


Holistic

by staymonkey



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Anal Sex, Body Horror, Bottom Slade Wilson, Consensual Sex, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Playful Sex, Sex while injured, Top Dick Grayson, Trans Dick Grayson, implied polyamory, sweet and silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:55:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27206233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staymonkey/pseuds/staymonkey
Summary: Slade is injured, and Dick takes care of him. More or less.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson
Comments: 13
Kudos: 74





	Holistic

Dick was in his sweatpants and filing complaints against Bludhaven police officers with internal affairs when Slade walked in. Dick’s door had been locked, and he hadn’t known Slade was even in town. Still, he’d been paginating exhibits for three hours, and so he welcomed the distraction.

But when he looked up from his laptop, he started. Slade was hunched in his doorway looking tired and sallow. His hair was dirty and matted with blood, although that meant little. He often tracked in blood and it was rarely his own.

Slade grunted a hello.

“You look like hell,” Dick chirped. Slade scowled at him.

“I had a boom tube opened inside my gut,” Slade huffed.

Dick snorted. “Yeah, okay. I’m using that the next time I want to skip barhopping with Jason.”

Slade lifted the hem of his sweater, and the smile slid from Dick’s face.

There was a gaping hole in Slade’s stomach. A horrible, fleshy maw that had begun healing enough that Dick couldn’t see straight through, but raw enough still that Dick watched in real time as Slade’s intestines restitched themselves in a writhing mass.

Dick turned green. He closed the lid to his laptop and set it aside. He watched Slade’s colon reattach itself. He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed.

“This is, uh, deeply upsetting, Slade,” Dick finally said. “You really decided I needed to see that. You got literally disemboweled, and then you thought to yourself, ‘instead of seeking medical attention, I should immediately bring my dripping guts into Dick’s apartment because that’s something he needs.’ You’re like a cat, you know. You bring me dead, maimed things; and today, you just happened to be the thing that’s maimed.”

“I didn’t realize my company was such an inconvenience,” Slade mused, lowering his shirt back over his squirming guts. Dick scrubbed his face with his hands and groaned.

“You’re not an inconvenience,” Dick said through his fingers. “But, unfortunately, I love you, and seeing you like this is distressing. You knew it’d be distressing. Are you okay? Are you going to die on my carpet?”

“You said I could come to you,” Slade huffed. “I’m fine. It’s healing.”

“I said you could come to me when you need _affection_ , Slade,” Dick corrected, dropping his hands. “What you need right now is a _gastroenterologist_. Are you in pain?”

“No,” Slade said. “My enteric nervous system hasn’t reconnected. I won’t even be able to feel hunger for a few hours.”

“Oh,” Dick said. “Good. I guess. I don’t think I’ll be able to feel hunger again for a few hours too.”

“I don’t know why you have to make this about you,” Slade said.

“Bold words for a man whose stomach I could pluck out to use in my utility belt,” Dick warned. That caused Slade to smirk, and Dick rolled his eyes. 

“Come here,” Dick said, gesturing. “You should have at least dressed it by now.”

Slade didn’t move but to tense his shoulders. 

“It’s healing too quickly for that. Packing and dressing the wound risks trapping gauze inside,” Slade insisted. “It’s healing on its own. I’ve got a very active gut; I drink kombucha.”

“No, you don’t,” Dick snorted. “Also, that is a wild connection you’re making. Completely divorced from medical science.”

“I do,” Slade insisted. “Rose gave me a kombucha SCOBY.”

Dick considered Slade.

Dick had a mental file on Slade; Dick had one for everyone in his life. Slade’s file was surprisingly thick given who Slade was but still thinner than Dick’s other partners. Within that mental file, Dick had noted Slade’s aversion to medical attention. Not that Slade frequently needed medical attention, but the few times Slade did, Dick had only ever seen Wintergreen successfully give him so much as a band-aid.

Dick had theories. He’d yet to test those theories, and he wasn’t about to do so now. Because, like he’d told Slade, he, unfortunately, loved him.

Dick sighed. “Okay, fine, you absurd old man. At least lay down with me while your pancreas grows back. And take off your shirt, I don’t want sweater fibers healing into your wound.” 

Slade tried to lift his arms, but the stretch tugged on his reconstructing innards, and so Dick cut the sweater from his body, leaving Slade only in his jeans. Now that the initial shock had passed, Dick could take a proper look at the wound.

It was nearly perfectly circular, and the edges were clean instead of burned or ragged like Dick might have expected. Not that Dick had any expectations for what a boom-tube-related-stomach-hole _would_ look like; the devices the Justice League used were too large and grounded for this sort of injury. Dick supposed Victor could open a hole in someone’s person, but Dick couldn’t believe that he _would_.

Dick guided Slade into his bedroom. Dick settled cross-legged and leaned against the headboard. Slade gingerly lowered himself onto his back, so that he could lay flat with his head in Dick’s lap. Dick unhooked Slade’s eyepatch from around his head, put it on the nightstand, and massaged Slade’s temples.

“I need to wash your hair,” Dick murmured while Slade’s eye fluttered closed. “I’ll use a damp cloth; you won’t have to leave the bed.”

“Later,” Slade murmured. He heaved a sigh, and Dick hoped he’d imagined the _squelch_ he heard.

“What happened, anyway?” Dick asked. “This wasn’t Vic, was it?”

Slade furrowed his eyebrows but didn’t open his eye. Dick carefully weaved his fingers into Slade’s hair to massage Slade’s scalp.

“Stone wouldn’t,” Slade murmured. “Wasn’t Grid either. I took a contract to test a client’s theory. They wanted me to detain a mark. I didn’t need to kill him, only hold him in place for five hours,” Slade said. His voice trailed, and Dick paused his ministrations. Slade grunted unhappily.

“And?” Dick said. “What kind of mark could have done _that_ to you?”

“The mark didn’t,” Slade said. He opened his eye and glared up at Dick. “Don’t stop.”

Dick huffed out a laugh and went back to massaging Slade’s head. “Okay, well, then who did? And who was the mark?”

Slade hesitated. Dick deepened the scalp massage, and Slade groaned. “It was Scott Free.”

Dick stopped and snorted. “Oh. Oh my _god_ ,” he said. “Oh my god, Big Barda did this to you, didn’t she? You went after Mister Miracle and she got creative with her mega-rod? God, Slade, you should have known better.”

Slade growled unhappily. Dick stroked a finger down the bridge of his nose and shushed him. “I’m sorry, that was rude. You’re a very professional, smart mercenary. But Big Barda’s protective, and she’s brutal. I’m surprised she left you alive.”

“She didn’t,” Slade grumbled. “I was dead for over 11 minutes.”

Dick paused. “Oh,” he said. He traced Slade’s cheekbones, following them back to his temples, where he resumed his massage. “That’s distressing. It might even be more distressing than your stomach chasm.”

Slade hummed.

They fell into a companionable silence, and, eventually, Slade’s breathing deepened as he dozed. Dick continued to stroke Slade’s head while he watched the edges of Slade’s torn skin stretch into thin tendrils. The tendrils connected and threaded themselves together over his wriggling innards.

Slade slept, but Dick wasn’t sure if he’d ever sleep again after _that_.

A few hours later, Slade began to stir. By then, skin covered where the hole had been, although there was heavy bruising that indicated he hadn’t finished healing internally. Occasionally, the skin distended, presumably as Slade’s intestines regenerated and shifted about in his abdominal cavity to accommodate their developing length.

Slade blinked blearily, yawned, and tilted his head back to look up at Dick. Dick hadn’t moved since Slade had fallen asleep and his knees and back hurt from sitting rigid and cross-legged for so long. But even if he’d been willing to disturb Slade’s rest to slide out from underneath him, he’d been too engrossed by Slade’s healing process to notice his aches and pains until then. 

“Have you been watching me sleep?” Slade huffed.

“No,” Dick murmured, sparing Slade’s face a glance. The color had returned to his cheeks, to some degree. He had a handsome face, looking at it alleviated some of the sympathetic cramping in Dick’s own gut. “I’ve been watching your intestines fold back into place. I think. I haven’t been entirely sure about what’s going on since the skin healed.”

“Are you still distressed?” Slade asked. Dick considered the question before answering.

“No. It lost its novelty after the first hour of watching you do your thing. It’s not fundamentally worse than that time I watched you regenerate an arm. Gooier. But not worse.”

“Good,” Slade said.

Slade yawned again. And then he tilted his head to nuzzle Dick’s thigh. And then he reached back to slide a hand under Dick’s shirt. 

“Undress,” Slade demanded. Dick blinked down at him.

“Excuse me?” Dick asked. Slade frowned.

“Undress?” he asked, withdrawing his hand. Dick shook his head.

“No, that’s not—I mean, you _should_ ask, but there’s no way you’re up for sex right now. You can’t be. I’ve spent the better part of two hours watching your black and blue stomach undulate. I’m surprised you haven’t vomited in my lap yet. I’m surprised _I_ haven’t vomited in my lap yet.” 

“My _abdomen_ is still healing,” Slade said.

“Yes, that’s what I’m saying,” Dick insisted.

“But my rectum is fine,” Slade concluded. “It wasn’t torn by the boom tube.”

Dick’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. Slade reached down and adjusted his boner in his jeans pointedly.

“You seriously want me to fuck you right now?” Dick asked. “Like, seriously? Right now?” His head was swimming, he was going to pass out.

“It’d be nice, yes,” Slade said.

“You lost most of your _fucking_ colon, Slade! What the _fuck_?!” Dick held Slade’s head in his lap as if holding Slade in place could make him realize he was a sexual degenerate.

Not that Dick didn’t _want_ to fuck Slade; it was a rare day that he didn’t. But it _was_ that he didn’t want to _break_ _Slade further_.

“I’ll lie flat on my back,” Slade offered. “You can take care of the rest.”

“How very generous of you,” Dick said dryly, pinching the bridge of his own nose. “Even if I’m gentle, it’s going to jostle you. It could hurt, Slade. What if I thrust wrong and, I don’t know, dislodge something? What if it doesn’t heal right?”

“You’ll just open me up and put it back then,” Slade said.

Dick reared back. “I will do no such thing!”

Slade rolled his eye. “Fine. Wintergreen will open me up and put it back then.” Dick grimaced, and Slade added, “You won’t dislodge anything; nothing’s settled enough to dislodge. I’ll eat you out if that makes it better.”

“It doesn’t,” Dick said, although it did, a little. He looked down at Slade, and Slade looked so absurdly, unfairly _handsome_ in his lap. It’d been a while since he’d seen Slade. And, because the universe really was terribly, terribly, cruel, Dick did love him dearly.

And if Dick had a Pavlovian response to Slade Wilson in his bed, it was Slade’s fault for not coming around more often.

Dick sighed and Slade’s eyebrows perked up.

“You have to promise to tell me if anything feels off,” Dick warned.

Slade sat up on his elbows so Dick could slide out from under him. “Hurry up and go get your cock, kid.”

* * *

“The orange one,” Slade demanded while Dick dug through the straps and toys haphazardly strewn in his sock drawer. “If you can even find it. You’re in your 30s, buy a storage box for fuck’s sake.”

“It’s fine, the silicone toys aren’t touching each other,” Dick said distractedly because he really couldn’t find the orange one. He wished he hadn’t already undressed; he was beginning to feel undignified. “I seriously think we should start with the purple one, it’s smaller and quite frankly more responsible given you look like shit.”

“You can’t find it, can you?” Slade asked dryly. He was still lying on his back on Dick’s bed, but his head was tilted to watch Dick’s increasingly frantic shuffling.

Dick shot him a look.

“You could find it if you stored your cocks like an adult,” Slade said.

Dick threw his hands up. “I _could_ just masturbate in your general vicinity and then call Wintergreen to come collect you; you horrible, old man,” Dick threatened. Slade pursed his lips.

“The purple one’s fine,” Slade said.

“A good choice, babe,” Dick huffed, pulling out a modest purple dildo and his boxer brief harness. The dildo was shorter and thinner than Slade’s usual preference, but Slade’s usual preference was probably still in the dishwasher from when Tiger visited a few days prior.

Dick slid the dildo into place, and then he slipped into the boxer briefs. He stroked his dick and glanced at Slade’s stomach. It was smooth, there hadn’t been any more writhing. Dick watched for several more seconds, just to be sure. The edges of his bruising were already yellowing.

“My eyes are up here, kid,” Slade grumbled, wiggling and fidgeting in his impatience. Dick frowned and released his dick to swat Slade’s thigh.

“Don’t move so much. Are you sure I’m not going to fuck up your healing? Isn’t it going to hurt?” Dick insisted, reaching out to cup Slade’s face so that Slade would be forced to look at him when he replied.

Slade rolled his eye. “I’m durable, kid. It’ll hurt, but not much, and not enough that I give a damn. Now, are you going to fuck me or coddle me?”

Dick grinned wickedly. “Both,” he said.

He leaned down and kissed Slade, slowly and deeply. Slade pushed forward to deepen the kiss, and Dick pulled away with a smirk.

“I said to settle,” he cooed, running his fingers through Slade’s chest hair. He tugged lightly and Slade grunted but relaxed into the mattress. Dick withdrew his fingers to dance them down Slade’s unblemished side. He kissed Slade again, as he undid the button on Slade’s jeans. He dragged the zipper down so that he could slide a hand beneath Slade’s waistband.

“’S there a particular reason you’re wearing a jock?” Dick asked against Slade’s lips. He cupped Slade’s cock through his jockstrap; Slade was still soft, but Dick felt him twitch against his palm. He lightly squeezed Slade.

“I came straight here,” Slade murmured. “I’d just gotten most of my lumbar spine back; I had very little muscle control and I didn’t want to change more clothes than I had to.” 

“You poor baby,” Dick murmured, tracing the outline of Slade’s semi-erect dick through his jock. He meant it, too. Dick had never had the opportunity to regenerate a lumbar spine, but he couldn’t imagine it was pleasant.

He shifted down Slade’s body, nipping Slade’s nipple on the way down. Slade grunted.

“I thought you were _coddling_ me,” Slade muttered. Dick licked his nipple apologetically and Slade relaxed. Dick snorted, and then kissed down Slade’s torso, pulling away at the edge of Slade’s bruising.

“I really do wish you’d be gentle with yourself,” Dick said, shuffling down the bed. He peeled down Slade’s jeans, pausing only once to nip Slade’s thigh, until he’d removed the jeans entirely. Dick tossed them aside and ran his fingers down Slade’s Adonis’s belt. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of Slade’s jock next, pulled it away, and discarded it with the rest. He kissed the head of Slade’s hardening cock. “It’d make me feel better if you were.”

“A shame,” Slade said, closing his eyes and settling back. “Go fold my clothes; don’t leave them on the floor like that,” he added.

Dick licked the head of Slade’s cock. “No,” he said before wrapping his lips around Slade’s cock and taking him in as far as he’d go. Slade tilted his head back and groaned. Dick looped his fingers around the base of Slade’s length, where Dick couldn’t quite reach otherwise, and stroked in time with the bobbing of his mouth. His saliva dripped down Slade’s cock, slicking his fingers, although it wouldn’t be enough for what he wanted.

He grunted around Slade and pinched Slade’s inner thigh with his free hand. Slade made a disgruntled noise and glanced down the length of his body at Dick. Dick met his gaze and gestured to the nightstand. Slade opened the nightstand drawer, dug around, and found the bottle of lubricant Dick kept there. He rolled the bottle down the mattress, and Dick grabbed it.

“Thanks, babe,” he said, pulling away to uncap the lube. He drizzled his fingers, capped the bottle, and set it aside. “Do you want to come once now, or are you good until later?”

“I _want_ you to fold my pants so that they’re not on your unkempt floor,” Slade snarked. Dick smiled beatifically and then rubbed his hands together until both were coated in lube.

“Oh no!” Dick said. “Can’t touch them now, can I? I’d get lubricant everywhere! How awful, so terrible.” He gripped Slade’s hips and smeared his hands up his sides just to watch Slade roll his eye as Dick painted him in excess lube.

“You’re my punishment for sleeping with my commanding officers,” Slade commented. “This is what I get in my twilight years for being incorrigible when young. You’re my horrid, greasy penance for a life poorly lived.”

“Your reputation doesn’t do you justice,” Dick cooed. “More people should know what a brat you are.” Without further ado, he slipped a finger inside of Slade, crooking it to graze Slade’s prostate. Slade’s eye rolled back, this time involuntarily.

Dick smirked and slipped in a second finger.

Slade was a delightfully easy, if lazy, bottom when he chose to bottom. An unexpected if a particularly delightful side effect of Slade’s generally enhanced durability was his elasticity. His elasticity was why he didn’t look a day over 50 when he was pushing 70, it was why he healed so quickly, and it was why he was so terribly easy to prep for sex.

Also, and Dick supposed he had Adeline and Wintergreen to thank for it, Slade was good at taking orders. 

Sometimes.

“Spread your legs,” Dick cooed. “But only if it’s comfortable. How’s your stomach?”

“It’s healed enough for this much,” Slade grunted, spreading his legs. Dick slotted himself between Slade’s legs and thrust a little faster, going a little deeper. He drizzled more lubricant on his fingers as they pumped in and out of Slade, and Slade huffed out a low groan. “Harder.”

“No,” Dick grinned. “We’re being gentle, remember?” he slowed down, and Slade glared at him with murderous intent. Dick raised his eyebrows and fingered him even more shallowly until Slade’s petulantly furrowed brow smoothed over.

“Fine,” Slade conceded, and there was only a little venom in his voice, so Dick began thrusting in earnest again. He added another finger when Slade settled and behaved himself for several seconds. 

Normally, he’d be stroking Slade’s side, or kissing down Slade’s happy trail, or putting Slade’s enhanced flexibility to good use. But Slade had destroyed his stomach, and the edges of Slade’s bruising were only just now turning green. Dick didn’t want to risk reinjuring Slade right as Slade’d nearly finished healing. Dick would need to keep Slade as prone as possible, which wouldn’t make for a particularly comfortable position for himself.

He petted Slade’s thigh with his free hand and chewed his lip as he mapped out how he could fuck Slade most carefully, prompting Slade to snort.

“What?” Dick blurted defensively.

“You’re thinking too hard. Get out of your head. Touch me, if you want to touch me,” Slade said. He shifted, lifting his hips just enough to change the angle of Dick’s fingers inside of him. Dick pulled his fingers out of Slade to grip Slade’s thighs.

“Nope, we’re behaving, remember?” he said. Slade huffed.

“You’re going too slow. It’s patronizing, Grayson,” Slade retorted. “I know what I can take.”

“Alright, fine,” Dick huffed. “What do you want, then?”

“For you to get on with it, please,” Slade shot back. It wasn’t a particularly charming request, but he’d said please. Dick squirted lube onto his cock and stroked himself.

“Because you asked nicely,” Dick muttered.

He folded his legs underneath himself and shuffled closer. He looked around himself before snatching the pillow Slade offered him. He folded the pillow in half and lifted Slade’s hips just enough to slide the folded pillow beneath Slade’s lower back. Then, he lined himself up with Slade’s stretched, slick asshole and rolled his hips as roughly into Slade as he was willing given Slade’s condition. It was apparently enough because then Slade smirked.

“Mm, fucking finally,” Slade groaned, tilting his head back. Dick thrust shallowly, while he adjusted to the position and found his rhythm. The pillow wasn’t providing a comfortable enough height, and so Dick slid his hands beneath Slade’s ass and lifted him just a little higher. He must’ve caught Slade’s prostate because Slade’s jaw fell open, so Dick kept the angle and set a steady, firm pace.

“Didn’t take that long,” Dick huffed. “I could’ve teased you more.”

“Save your breath, Grayson,” Slade said. “You’re going to need it.”

Slade was, in rare form, right. Fucking him was exhausting; he had stupidly high stamina, and it was a goddamn work out on a good day. Fucking him like _this_ , while supporting some of his weight and keeping him from moving against the mattress, was a marathon, not a sprint.

Dick bit his lower lip, adjusted his grip, and ground into Slade with the same single-minded focus he used to leap roofs or grapple Killer Croc. The toy strapped to his hips wasn’t ideally positioned for his own pleasure, but this wasn’t about him.

Although, he got no small amount of satisfaction when a genuine, raw moan tore itself from Slade’s throat.

“Yeah?” Dick huffed with a grin.

“Yeah,” Slade confirmed, eye hazy.

It wasn’t terribly long before curses and encouragement spilled from Slade’s lips more freely. Dick’s pace stuttered as he lowered Slade back against the pillow. He uncapped the lube again and clumsily poured some on Slade’s cock before wrapping his hand around Slade’s length and jacking Slade to the same rhythm as his newly angled thrusts. It took some shifting, but eventually, Slade moaned again, and Dick caught up to his previous pace.

“Tighter, Grayson,” Slade barked. Dick tightened his fingers and tried not to pant, although he caught Slade watching him hungrily. Dick realized that maybe Slade enjoyed watching him work for it, which was something he’d deal with later.

Sweat gathered on Dick’s forehead, and he laughed because he realized Slade would want a bath when they finished, but probably wouldn’t be well enough. Dick imagined giving him a sponge bath, and he imagined how annoyed Slade would be when he did, and that alone was enough to inspire new vigor in his thrusts.

“You’re thinking something awful,” Slade breathed, his brows furrowing in that way they did when he was close. “What’s— _fuck_ , good, kid—what’re you thinking?”

Dick shook his head, feeling horribly sticky when his hair stuck to the back of his neck.

“’M not,” Dick grunted. “Nothing. Shuddup and come.”

“Doesn’t— _hn_ —doesn’t work like that,” Slade murmured.

“It was worth a try,” Dick muttered. 

It took several more minutes, and it took until Dick's thighs and core were screaming before Slade went rigid. He came with a throaty groan, and Dick pulled out of Slade gingerly before falling back, panting. Dick’s hands were covered in lube and come and sweat, but he didn’t mind smearing them on his sheets if it meant he could rest for a moment.

He uncurled his legs on either side of Slade just to stretch them. “Mm, Slade. How’re you feeling?”

Slade sat up. At first, Dick protested, but then his eyes traveled down, and he saw where Slade’s bruising had rapidly subsided. There was still a baseball-sized purple bruise, but it too was rapidly turning green.

Slade also didn’t appear to have a navel anymore. Dick had never considered that Slade’s navel would heal over. It made sense; navels were umbilical scars and Slade’s stomach had been sent without him to Apokolips, umbilical scar, and all. But it was quite frankly ruining Dick’s life.

“Fine,” Slade mused, looking down where Dick sprawled. “You look like shit.”

Dick glared at him. “I’m too sweet to you. Maybe I should become a pillow prince and never fuck you again. I can lay back and do nothing while you’re left with all of the work, your asshole utterly dry.” 

“That’s absurd,” Slade insisted. “You’d get bored.”

Dick snorted and flopped down onto his back. He felt the mattress shift, and then he felt Slade’s hands on his hips as Slade peeled Dick boxer briefs away from his sticky folds. Slade folded the briefs and set them aside, placing the dildo on top of them.

Dick sat up on his elbows. He watched Slade duck between his legs to lap at the slick on his inner thighs.

“You don’t have to, not while you’re bruised up,” Dick murmured, although his breath hitched as Slade’s nose brushed his clit. “Thought you’d want a bath first. I still want to wash your hair.”

“I do want a bath; you’ve made a filthy fucking mess,” Slade murmured, glancing up at Dick from between his legs. Dick swallowed, hard. “But we’re not finished here.”

“This was about you,” Dick insisted, even as Slade parted his labia with two fingers to drag his tongue up the length of Dick’s vulva.

“Still is,” Slade replied, licking his lips. “Now, shut up and come.”


End file.
